


An Introduction to Shiz

by Dreaming_M



Category: The Wicked Years Series - Gregory Maguire, Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: Arjiki Tribe customs, Character of Colour, Gen, MOC POV, Ozma Towers, Shiz University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_M/pseuds/Dreaming_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiyero Tigelaar, Prince of the Arjiki Tribe, of the Vinkus people, sent abroad to study at Shiz University.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enchanted Antlers

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: This is the canon accurate depiction of Fiyero; blue diamonds and brown skin, from the novels.

Fiyero hurried through the grounds of Shiz after those enchanted horns attacked him. His cheek ached, but a lump, a scrape and a marred diamond wouldn’t kill him. This school might though.

Pushing that grim thought from his head, he held himself as his mother would at her proudest and ignored any sniggering or goings on around him. No doubt the story of the Vinkus' battle with the antlers had made their rounds.  _But it was no matter now_ , he thought as he walked through a more secluded part of the academy. As soon as there was no one in sight, he dropped his composure, leaned over and sucked in a few desperately needed breaths. He was scared, and alone, and he had to make the best of it.

His dropped head shifted the comb in his hair. He watched it slip down a little before getting snagged. The pretty piece was a gift from Sarima, to wish him luck. So far it hadn’t brought any, but the sight of it caused him to straighten his back and pick it out of his hair.

It would not do for him to shame his own wife on his first day, she needn’t a husband who sobs like a child after nothing but the trophies of a dead animal fly into his face.

Collected and cold, he heads back to Ozma Towers. A handsome establishment for the more influential men at Shiz, his single room was on a high floor, complimenting his status as a prince, but a small one of the towers, due to his poverty.

He was pleased enough with it; meager than anything he’s ever slept in before, but allowances had to be made, Gillikin was no where the near graceful splendor his proper Arjiki standards were accustomed to. It was no matter, he brought as many comforts of home as he could.

He did not trust the clockwork, or the tik toks, as they liked to all their devices, to set up his things, and shooed the one that had brought his cases. He had too much work to do to bother with the tinny thing.

He had to set up his bed canopy, including the frame itself, and he thanked Named Gods he had brought it. His rugs and cushions came next, and he was relieved he didn’t have to sneer at the bare floors anymore. His tapestry of his wedding he hung conspicuously; a few years back but flattering and the only needlework with his whole family in it. A few other trinkets took the walls; statues of the Named Gods and a few protective charms.  
His pious Grandmother had packed too many, but he supposed if he were to travel it would be best to let the charms settle in place and bring the remainder with him. His clothes fit with mild difficulty in his wardrobe, and he was forced to leave the doors open to arrange enough room; so threw some more charms on top of it for the luck needed to ensure his costumes wouldn’t burst out of the furniture. Plus the wood was not etched or painted, and he liked the bright colours.

His bathroom was private but cramped, and he added a few more charms in there for good measure. Who knew what paler people would allow in their quarters that any Vinkus man considered unholy. It was better to be safe than sorry. The idea of these plain walls actually harbouring ill spirits amused him though, and the comforts of home eased him enough for him to laugh lightly to himself.

And he was done. His room was as much his own as he could make it. He didn’t want to go outside to eat; he felt bland food would only feed with growing apathetic loneliness. A good spiced dish would reinvigorate him, but he expected little worth facing his earlier humiliation for. Besides, all the bared floors and hard seats were so savage to him; he had studied Gillikinese culture beforehand and hadn’t found it appealing even then.

With no other choice he knelt quickly to pray, threw on a necklace of a red rose in a childish attempt to cheer himself up, and decided to burn a stick of incense to make up for the lack of the familiar faint smell of sand before slipping into bed.


	2. Second Day, Second Impressions

Fiyero woke to his second day at Shiz with growing disdain on his tongue. This whole university was disgusting him. 

With heavy limbs, he washed and stood ringing out his hair; wondering how much of Vinkus hygiene he should settle on. The Gillikinese men didn’t oil their hair or wear very much in the way of embroiderments. His fingers hovered over the scented liquids in their pretty Quadling-blown glass bottles, and his many favourite pieces of ornaments. He scowled at his own hesitance and oiled thoroughly, though choose plain earrings and bracelets, and only three rings. It was understated and he would prefer a more noticeable show of his refined tastes, but opulence would not be looked on well. He slipped Sarima’s comb into his hair and tied it back with a string of gold beads.

Today he had to work past his disastrous entrance, and be prepared for any scorn or mocking. He liked to think of himself as good-humoured, and above all patient; if he could track an animal in silence for three days he could handle rowdy boys throwing around antler jokes.

He chose his white and gold linen tunic and preferred loose Vinkus pants rather than the Gillikanese trousers. They were much too provocative and he knew it would be above all best to focus people on his demeanor and temperament.

As he walked out to breakfast, he regretted his choices a little bit. As subtle as he tried to be, these plain crunchy haired boys were practically nothing but a sea of purple, blue and green. His Vinkus yellow wardrobe was no doubt reminding the students of exactly who was hit in the face by-

“Antler attack!” A voice bellowed. And he saw two boys run up holding a cursed pair. Fiyero steeled himself against flinching back, and only took a small step back to accommodate the mounted antlers in such close proximity. He found himself scowling at them, but quickly smiled.

“If I may just do what I should have done yesterday ….” He said delicately, gripping the antlers and slowly removing them from the boy’s grip. He lifts them higher, and throws them to the ground as hard as he could. The crash is loud and whoever hadn’t already been looking, looks now.

He notes with satisfaction that one of the bey prongs had snapped off and spun into a corner.

“Hey! You broke it!” One of the boys yelled, looking shocked.

“I did.” Fiyero all but purrs it too. “Vengeance is sweet.”

“It wasn’t the same pair, Winkie!” The other boy snaps. At the slur, Fiyero’s smile tightens and his satisfaction becomes bitter. “We took those from Briscoe!” He said heatedly.

Fiyero sees the lecturer walk up behind the gathered boys, and his pride smarts as he says loudly, “It doesn’t matter to me where you stole them from.” He hears the gasps of the teacher being noticed, before walking off from the crowd. He hears the authoritative scolding before he walks into the breakfast hall.

He must have taken a wrong turn; there were girls sitting and eating here. Fiyero was so quick to get away he had walked into a co-educational food hall. Shiz had around two, and Fiyero it seemed had inadvertently found one. 

He walked through the hall anyway, slightly embarrassed that his jewelry was coveted more by the women and a little shy of them. All the women he knew were his family and these were far from. The slur still hangs heavy in his mind though, and he walks with the poise of a hunter between the long benches. An air of superiority may nip this insistent self-consciousness in the bud.

Any thoughts of people evaporated when he looks upon the food. He feels a sharp pang of hunger being smothered forcibly by the alien food in front of him. He knew on a basic academic level what he was looking at - toast, served sliced and lightly crisped, porridge, oat and milk mixture …, many of these dishes were hardly foreign. Everything he would see spread out at Kiamo Ko, but not like this. Steel trays holding food made for quantity, certainly not quality. It was bland, there was no colour to speak of. No healthy greens, brown grain or herbs. His stomach would not be a friend of his here.

He chooses some lighter stuff to tide him by, already planning out the pathetic begging letter he would send home for food and treats, when a hand grabs his arm.

A barely stocky boy smiles at him, letting go of his limb to balance his full tray with more ease. Fiyero knows he’s familiar, but can’t place him. He forces himself not to squint at other boy, and instead waits for him to speak.

It seems the boy had assumed he'd say something first. When it was obvious that Fiyero would stay silent, he begins to grin.

“Are you alright? I see your cheek is bruising nicely, but the swelling’s down.” The boy says, and Fiyero remembers; one of the boys who had wrestled those blasted enchanted things off of him. He smiles and nods. “And the mark only really makes it tempting to add a few more!” The boy says, and the tone is strange to him. He hadn’t the greatest experience with sexual things; stolen moments with Sarima and his close friends in a hunting party, but never did he have a boy so openly flirty. Not one his own age; it was slightly childish to him; something young boys with their voices still high and baby fat in their cheeks would do.

But he’s too glad to be spoken to in a friendly way at all. “Thank you, it hardly hurts, I owe you for your help yesterday.”

“Come sit with me then! Would you believe none of my friends would be up at this hour? I’m Crope, my other half, Tibbett shouldn’t be up for hours - with the night we had! Sit down, now, being so new and green - or yellow! Sorry, gold, you’re right - you must want to know what to know? Well, a boy from Three Queens is likely to tell you if you’re sweet.”

At this, Crope took a breath and waited with a sly, suggestive smile. Fiyero was sure Crope expected something the prince would give a successful hunter or loyal soldier, but some flirty boy he wouldn’t give anything of the sort. Instead he smiles and leans closer, taking a spoonful of the pot of sugar sitting on the table and drops it carefully into Crope’s coffee mug. “How sweet.” Crope said dryly, but there is amusement in his eyes. He had seemingly won the boy’s approval, as he launches into a tirade of a run down of the cliques, the prestigious families and the outcasts, and any fantastic gossip he can think of. By the end of it, Fiyero is taken aback and grateful for the boy’s confidence. But time had slipped past them quickly and Fiyero had classes to attend, and had even managed to eat his breakfast.

“Thank you very much for this lovely talk,” Fiyero said sincerely, taking the boy’s hand and squeezing it before taking up his tray.

Crope beams and walks behind him, “And thank you for your lovely company! Listen, we share the same lunch period,” in the midst of Crope’s speech, he had eased Fiyero’s schedule from him, “sit with my group, we’re not all bad. Even have a bright green girl.” He says, nudging his arm with a beseeching smile. At that Fiyero remembers the one green stick of a child he had glimpsed in the seats yesterday. That  _would_ be interesting.

Fiyero agrees gratefully and leaves for class with a lighter heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spend a lot of time having Fiyero primp; mostly to make a distinction between him and his other paler cohorts. It makes him seem a little more feminine and elegant, hopefully. Also all the breakfast foods are normal to him, promise.


End file.
